Sticking Together for Survival
by Nikstlitslepmur
Summary: Claire Dearing and Owen Grady deal as best they can with the aftermath of the June 12th incident at Jurassic World...together. Spoilers inevitable. Chapter Two: "Just tell the truth" - Claire gets some bad news; Owen has a chance to find Blue; and a rendezvous reminds them of, you know, that time Claire shot a dimorphodon off his back?
1. Quit being so nice

**Sticking together…for survival**

[Disclaimer: I claim no ownership or rights to the creation of any characters/situations/plot points developed by Universal and the creative team behind _Jurassic Park_ and/or _World._ ]

**Claire Dearing and Owen Grady deal with the aftermath of the June 12th incident at Jurassic World...together.**

 _Quit Being So Nice_

The second warning bell signaled the impending departure of the ferry back to Costa Rica, and Claire Dearing felt a little something lurch in her stomach as she turned to her sister and two nephews. She opened her mouth to utter what would have been another grossly inadequate apology, but Karen stopped her and drew her into a fierce hug. "I love you," she whispered. Claire wisely kept her mouth shut and squeezed back.

"Thank you again, for keeping my boys safe," she heard Scott saying behind her and both women turned to see Karen's husband shaking Owen's hand.

Owen shifted, looking a tad uncomfortable, but graciously nodded and then smiled at both boys. "You got some brave kids there. They made it easy. Besides, your sister-in-law did most of the work." He turned and gave Claire a sideways smirk which she pointedly dismissed.

Gray, who looked so much older and a little less innocent than he had when he'd barreled after her with a hug a few days ago, stepped forward, gripping tightly to the straps of his backpack. "You're not riding back with us?"

Owen glanced down again. "Uhm…"

"No, Gray," Claire reached forward and ran her hand through his hair. She'd been doing that a lot the past few days. "'Fraid not. We have," she looked up at Owen and sighed. "We have a _lot_ to clean up here."

Karen's hands went to her hips. "They're _not_ gonna make you _stay_ here?"

"Until all the assets…" she paused and checked herself, " _animals_ are accounted for, we can't risk letting any of them out into the wild. Plus there's still a few search and rescues underway – the ACU was only _just_ able to contain the T-Rex—"

Karen looked pained. "Oh Claire…"

"We'll be fine," she assured her older sister.

"But why does it have to be you?" asked Zach whose recent adventure (and emancipation from his cell phone) had brought to life a quite caring, intelligent, and family-conscious teenager.

Claire gulped and stared at the floor, unable to look her nephew in the eye. "Because I'm the one who's—"

"She's the lady in charge, kid," said Owen, cutting her off. Claire shot him a look but he shot back and she stayed silent.

"Are you staying with her?" Gray asked Owen in a softer voice, and no one there could mistake his meaning.

Owen looked down. "Yeah Gray—" he stole another glance at JW's frazzled operations director, but she kept her blushing gaze upon the floor— "course I am. Besides," he gave the kid's arm a friendly swat, "still got one of my raptors out there."

Gray's eyes lit up. "Blue?"

He smiled and nodded, "Blue."

Scott cleared his throat. "You… _named_ them?"

"Ok!" Claire clapped her hands together and snapped them to attention. "I'm sure Zach and Gray don't want to spend another second on this island so…" she trailed off, ushering them away from Owen and toward the on-ramp of the ferry where the last of this latest load was anxiously waiting to retreat and _never_ return to the theme park that almost killed them. They were almost aboard when Gray rushed back and threw his arms around her waist. Claire, just as stunned as last time, stood awkwardly with her hands suspended midair.

"Thanks Aunt Claire," Gray whispered fiercely, and then she did return the embrace.

"Yeah," came Zach's voice, suddenly right beside them. "I don't think I'll ever forget you running in with that T-Rex."

Claire managed a smile as Karen pried her kids away from their aunt. "All right, come on boys." She paused and placed her hands on Claire's shoulders, mouthed another _thank you,_ then boarded the ferry with the rest of the family.

Claire waved then, relieved to see them go but also sad and a little empty at the same time. As they receded in the distance, she felt him approach. "Me either, by the way," Owen murmured behind her.

She didn't turn around. "What?" she asked, hugging herself round the middle.

"You outrunning a T-Rex?"

Claire heaved a heavy sigh then finally turned. "Quit being so nice."

He blinked in surprise. "What?"

"Back there with Zach? _She's the lady in charge, kid?_ "

"Hey," Owen started after her as she hastily made her way through the ferry depot, trying hard to ignore the stares of hundreds more guests still waiting their turn. "Hey, it's better than what you were _gonna_ say."

"Oh yeah, and what's that?"

He caught up and stopped her. "That you're the one responsible."

She started to protest –for a split second resenting that he so easily read her mind — then shook her head in defeat. "It's true."

"No, it's not. And even if it was, do you really want your nephews dragged into court and have to testify that they heard you say something like that when all this shit hits the fan?"

She stared at him, dumbfounded. She hadn't even thought of that. This whole week had been full of a colossal number of things she just _hadn't_ thought of. "No," was the only reply she could manage.

"Hey," he softened his tone, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Look at me." She didn't want to, but was too tired not to comply. "This _isn't_ your fault."

"Then whose is it?"

"Nobody's," he shrugged. " And _every_ body's. Look, no one could've predicted—"

"Couldn't they? _You_ did," she shrugged away. "I should've listened to you in the first place. _You_ saw it. Youknew the _second_ you saw her feeding crane."

"Knew what? That she was dangerous? _Sure_ I knew that _._ She's a _dinosaur._ "

"You knew we'd lose that ACU team. That using the raptors wouldn't—"

"All right, stop," Owen shook his head and reclaimed her shoulder, dragging her further away from the crowd of dazed tourists. "Claire. Bright side. You're _alive,_ " he gave her a little shake as if doing so would remind her of it. "You saved your nephews' lives ok? Not to mention mine and about 20,000 other people."

At that she had to scoff. He'd tried to remind her of that for a few days now. Him and Lowery both, actually, retelling the whole flare-chasing T-Rex insanity like it was some kind of glorified war story. But she didn't feel like a hero. Everywhere she looked, even the bruises on Owen's face, looked to her like failure.

Owen frowned, glanced up and down the ferry depot's generous shopping mart, then grabbed her hand. "Come on," he said.

"What're you—"

"C'mon c'mon c'mon," he yanked her down the walkway, turning down one corridor of the market currently shut down. Like a kid chasing an ice cream truck, he tugged her along, dragging her at last in front of a bright buzzing neon sign that read _Dig-site Pit Stop_ – a fully stocked bar kiosk barred with a chain gate. "Gimme your key card."

Claire rolled her eyes, "Owen…"

"Hey," he quipped. "You should've listened to me in the first place, remember? C'mon, give it up." He held out his hand with a wide grin.

She gave him a pointed look – one he was actually glad she still had in her – and finally dug it out of her back pocket.

"Atta girl," he smiled, took it, then swiped and lifted the gate.

"You know, I really don't—"

"Drink?" he said as he ducked then reappeared behind the bar, rummaging through its inventory as if he'd worked there his whole life. "I know. Don't worry, this isn't drinking."

"Oh really?" she snorted, but found herself settling into a tacky reddish-gold stool shaped to look the amber top of old Hammond's cane. "What do you call it then?"

"Therapy," he said, plopping a shot glass of clear liquid in front of her. "The best kind."

She looked down, doubtful, but the twinkle in his eye was relentlessly convincing and before she could think too much, she took the shot and downed it in one gulp. Smugly, he crossed his arms over his chest and watched as her eyes bulged out of their sockets and the drink burned her throat, stinging her sinuses with blistering sensation. "Blech!" she shuddered, smacking her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "Oh, how do you _drink_ this stuff? Tastes like…." she pulled another sour face, "…like propane."

"More?" he smiled, holding up the open bottle.

She thought for a moment then held the glass forward, "Please."

He laughed and poured her another shot, one for himself, then toppered it off and set it back under the bar. "Cheers," he said, clinking their glasses together.

The second one went down smoother than the first, but still she had to throw her head back and brace both hands on the bar in the aftermath. He, of course, seemed unfazed by the drink. She glanced up and raised an eyebrow. "How come you're always trying to get me drunk?"

Owen held up a finger in protest. "Not drunk. _Relaxed._ You needed it then," he clarified, alluding to their disastrous first (and only) date, "and you _definitely_ need it now."

Claire shook her head. "What I neednow is to get back to the control room and salvage what's left of this company."

"No, what you need _now_ is to sit…and drink…and breathe." She sighed and started rolling the empty shot glass between her palms. "Claire," he said, reaching forward and clasping her wrist. At his touch, she tensed, skin tingling, and she forced herself to meet his gaze. "Trust me. You've been through more than you can mentally process right now. And if you don't at least take a minute for yourself, it's gonna gnaw at you."

She eyed, incredulous. "You learn all that from working with raptors?"

Owen glanced down then withdrew his hand. "No…from combat."

Claire started – she'd almost forgotten where Masrani found Owen Grady in the first place. "Did you…" she chewed her bottom lip, hoping to maintain at least a semblance of tact, "Did you see a lot? When you were a SEAL?"

"I saw enough."

He sighed, looking past her – distant. And the sudden vulnerability in his voice lent her a little more courage. She thought back a moment, then offered a gentle smile, "I thought you…didn't like talking about the navy."

His gaze darted back, surprised. Then he too smiled. _She remembers_ , he thought, knowing now they were both thinking on that first date the same way – 65 million years wiser _._ "I don't. But I know what it's like when that adrenaline kicks in. When just...pure… _gut_ takes over and you have to do things you never imagined yourself doing. Never thought possible." She nodded as he continued. "At the time it's a rush – like a…uh, some sorta high. It's only after the fact that…" he trailed off, searching for the words.

"That what?" she asked almost too quickly – enthralled, as if he were about to give her answers to questions she didn't know she had.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, "It starts to haunt you."

Claire shuddered. That was _not_ what she wanted to hear. "You're saying I'm gonna have nightmares," she muttered, staring again at her empty glass.

"I'm saying you're gonna have to deal," he explained, plucking the glass away and taking her hands in his own. "But you won't have to deal alone."

"No," she said quietly. "I'll be dealing along with 20,000 other people."

He gave her a squeeze, forcing her to look up as he caressed the back of one hand with the pad of his thumb, "And me."

...


	2. Just tell the truth

**Sticking together…for survival**

[Disclaimer: I claim no ownership or rights to the creation of any characters/situations/plot points developed by Universal and the creative team behind _Jurassic Park_ and/or _World_ ]

**Claire Dearing and Owen Grady deal with the aftermath of the events of the June 12th incident at Jurassic World...together.**

 _Just Tell the Truth_

"Hey hey hey! There ya go!" Lowery jabbed a fist in the air toward the screen then clapped. Implant tracking had been intermittent at best but IT had finally come through and the animals were permanently back on the map. Signals were snapping up on screen in rapid succession, each one pinging then remaining on the board with accurate readouts of every location. "Claire!" he yelled across the control tower. "Claire!"

Claire whipped around from the heated conversation she seemed to be having with yet another suit wandering through Operations. Seeming thankful for the reprieve, she hurried down the few steps to his workstation.

"What's up?" she braced the heel of her palm on his console and glanced at the large viewscreen.

"Implant tracking is back online. We've got eyes on all the animals."

Some mild relief flickered amongst her overwhelming fatigue, and she gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Good work Lowery. Get a message to ACU. The thermal sensors are still down in Gallimimus Valley."

"Right."

"Miss Dearing?" the tall man's condescending voice called her back, and Lowery saw her roll her eyes before she plastered on her corporate smile and turned.

"One second Mr. MacLean."

"So who's _this_ guy?" Lowery muttered, nodding back to the latest in a long line of big wigs who'd seen fit to fly out to Isla Nublar this week – unannounced and in the middle of a crisis, expecting to be shuttled around the island like a VIP. He punched in a few codes and flipped down the microphone on his headset. "Uh yeah," he spoke louder when the ACU dispatcher acknowledged his transmission. "We just got implant tracking back online; check your monitors."

"William MacLean," Claire answered in the same low voice. "Communications Director at Masrani Energy."

"Masrani Energy?" he scoffed, rolling his eyes. "ME's not even affiliated with Jurassic World. What the hell?"

"He's also on the Board," she clarified, and the word _board_ dropped like an anvil between them.

"Oh," he muttered, sheepishly. He turned his head and finally got a good look at her expression: etched with stress and worry, but mostly…she looked defeated.

"Yeah," she nodded, confirming his worst fears. After all, she was in no rush to finish her conversation with MacLean. She'd known for days now where this was headed. It was an eventuality – an expectation. She'd just…hoped to have more of the park restored before they swung the axe.

"Miss _Dearing!"_ he called for her again, pointedly checking his cell phone and staring disapprovingly.

"Claire," Lowery said, reaching for her shoulder, but she pulled back and shook her head with a sad smile.

"I'm coming, sir," she said aloud then to Lowery – "Hey do me a favor?"

"Anything."

"Make sure Owen knows? About the tracking implants? He's still…tryin' to find Blue."

Lowery nodded and watched as she turned back to MacLean and marched back up the stairs in those disarming stilettos – head held high.

…

There weren't many of InGen's research and development team left at the raptor paddock. Most of them had left on the boat that night along with the majority of Hoskins' jarhead security division. But a handful, loyal to Owen, Barry, and the animals they'd helped raise, had stayed behind to help put right a long line of Dr. Wu's wrongs. Leslie Dowd, an animal behaviorist and fellow Navy recruit, was one such compatriot who at the moment was working on an idea for wrangling the remaining pachy herd now that they'd run out of carfentanyl.

"It's not a question of speed," she was saying to Owen as the whirring of a distant motor drew nearer to their workspace. "The land cruiser can definitely outrun the pachys, and they do generally follow you if you bait 'em enough. It's a question of _where_."

Owen nodded, glancing aside as he saw Claire's car pull into view. "Where do you lead them _to_?" he clarified.

"Exactly. Then it hit me – the aviary!"

He cocked an eyebrow. "The aviary?"

She held her arms out with a wide I-dare-you-to-tell-me-this-is-a-bad-idea shrug. "Not being used for the pterosaurs anymore. And some of the pachys have wandered that far east anyway. Big open space just sitting there with an I-Rex sized hole in it. Get 'em in? Plug the hole? Whadya think?"

Owen chuckled as he rubbed the back of his neck, watching as Claire rolled her car off the dirt path and parked in their graveled lot. "I got no problem with you wanting to play tag with a pachycephalosaurus, Les. If you wanna try it, go."

Leslie broke into a wide grin, like she'd just been given carte blanche to redesign the whole valley to her own personal preservation-conscious specifications. "Can I take Sal?"

"Sure," he nodded toward the rover. "Just be back in time for—"

"I know. Hey Claire!" she called out as she sped off.

"Uh hi…Les?" Claire started with a double take as the girl was racing by so fast she barely got a glimpse. "Well," she turned to see Owen sitting on the work table, one foot propped up on the bench below him while he tinkered with a dual-release catch pole. "She seems pumped about something."

He shook his head and chuckled. "She's goin' pachy hunting. What're you doin' here?"

Her eyebrows flew up her forehead. "Pachy hunting?" she asked, ignoring his question.

"Yup. Taking the Galli rover out to chase rogue Pachy-saurs into the empty aviary," he said with a grin, patting the spot next to him on the table. "Wanna join?"

She managed a dazed smile as she watched Leslie and newbie Sal speed off in the converted rover – once an exhilarating safari adventure for guests turned animal control vehicle in the wake of the incident. "I'll pass, thanks."

"You ok?" he asked absently, though he was a bit too engrossed in his efforts to reinforce the rod to notice the extra slump in her shoulders or the resignation in her tone.

"Yeah," she lied, hopping up on the table next to him, not particularly caring about the snag she felt in her pin-striped pencil skirt. "What's that for?"

"This?" he tightened a screw, then set down the small hex key he was using. "This is for Blue…we hope," then his snapped his gaze down to her. "Oh, hey did you hear—"

"The tracking is back up, I know," she smiled, finding it unceasingly endearing how attached this man was to his velociraptor. She couldn't blame him though. His relationship with Blue had saved all their lives. "Did you find her?"

He nodded north. "Her implant pinged near the island's edge – way north of the old park's perimeter fence. We're heading out there soon as Barry gets back."

"Good," she gave him a nudge and another weak smile…and this time he _did_ notice.

"Hey," he set down the pole and shifted to face her, taking a much closer look: Tight skirt, squeaky-clean blouse, hair pulled back, heels. She was dressed for work – _really_ dressed. Like…Board-of-Directors dressed. "What _are_ you doin' here?"

Claire stared back at him in a sort of half-frown. "It's happened," she said.

Owen cocked his head to the side, eyeing her in scrutiny and fearing the worst. She delayed as long as she dared before his gaze demanded that she continue. "I've been suspended."

"Shit," he spat, shaking his head at the ground. "That was fast."

"We knew it was coming."

"Yeah but Jesus, Claire." Clenching one fist at his side, he propped his elbow up on his knee and laid his forehead in his other hand, wiping beads of sweat up his brow. "That soon?"

"It's been a week."

"Yeah," he scoffed. "A _whole_ week. A week where you've been doing nothing but cleaning up Masrani's mess. With nothing but a skeleton crew of workers I might add." He shook his head again in disgust. "Did they hand you some mumbo jumbo bullshit from Corporate?"

"No," she sighed, smoothing down the length of her skirt, "they were pretty direct about it actually." Straightening up, she adopted a very official tone: "I'm to cease all activities as park Operations Director and Senior Asset Manager pending an investigation into my…handling of the I-Rex incident."

"God dammit!" Owen slammed his fist on the table then pushed himself off of it, stalking toward a red pick-up truck parked alongside the paddock.

"Hey," Claire followed, scurrying to keep up. "Hey, I knew this was gonna happen, ok?"

"They're gonna pin it all on you," he kept walking, dragging the catch pole behind him.

"Probably."

"Blame _you_ so that when all the lawsuits start, they can chalk it up to employee error."

"That's the way these things usually—"

"'No, your honor,'" he mocked, bitterly. "'It wasn't _our_ fault. It wasn't because our security is a joke or our CEO was out of his mind—'"

"Owen—"

"And it definitely," he seized the handle of the tailgate and yanked it open, " _definitely_ wasn't the genius who crossed a T-Rex with a fucking velociraptor—"

"Owen, stop ok?" she reached for him, then jumped back as he threw the rod inside then slammed the bed closed. She took a deep breath and began again. "Look, I need you to promise me something."

"What?" he mumbled, crossing his arms in a huff.

"Any day now, the board is gonna send an army of lawyers here to start asking questions. I'm sure you're gonna be one of the first people they want to talk to."

"Yeah? So?"

"When that happens, please just…tell the truth."

His jaw visibly clenched as he looked away. "What're you talking about?" he muttered in a much lower tone than the one he'd been using. She wasn't fooled.

"Come on, _promise_ me."

But he just grunted and turned back toward the work bench. "The truth about what?"

"You _know_ what," she grabbed him and made him hold still. "They're gonna ask you about the raptors, and-and your project and everything that happened with Hoskins…and then they're gonna ask you about the I-Rex."

"Claire—" his eyes darted around, looking anywhere else, wanting to _be_ anywhere else, as he shoved his hands in his back pockets.

"They're gonna ask you about the paddock I had you inspect. About the scratch marks – come on, look at me." She grazed his chin with the tips of her fingers and lifted his gaze. Finally, he relented and looked down at her. "And when they do that, I need you…to tell…the truth."

He shook his head, gritting his teeth. "This is just…wrong."

"Owen?"

"They're gonna come in here and fuck it up even worse—"

"The _truth,_ Owen."

"As opposed to what?" he lashed out, throwing his hands up in the air.

"As opposed to – to…a lie!" she shouted, unable to hold it in any longer. "As opposed to some macho, I'm-gonna-protect-my-girlfriend bullshit I know is goin' thorugh your head right now! You know, something idiotic like - like uh…'Why uhm, no sir. Actually it was _my_ bright idea to go _into_ the paddock and inspect the scratch marks on the walls!'"

"Claire—"

"'No I— _I_ was the one who-wh-who rushed in without thinking or, you know, _waiting_ for them to run that trace on the implant, or hell even running the infrared scan one more time!'" Owen had fallen silent, feeling nauseous now as the real world realities of what the next few years were going to look like started to set in. "Look," she softened, placing a hand on his shoulder and trying to retain control of her cool. "I know these past few days, you and Lowery have made it your own," she searched for the words and let out a small laugh, "your own personal _mission_ to keep me from blaming myself. And no, I'm not the geneticist who crossed a raptor with a T-Rex or the CEO who wanted more teeth." She cupped his cheek when he started to turn away again and forced him to keep her gaze. "But you said it yourself. I have to _deal_. And if I'm gonna deal with any of this, you have to let me deal with the fact that _I'm_ the one who sent. you. in. there. _I'm_ the reason that Enrique and Otto were killed…and why you _barely_ made it out alive." He looked ready to argue again, but she pushed on, resolved to say her peace. "Please. You have to let me accept that. And believe me, the _last_ thing I need is us _both_ being in trouble. That doesn't help me, Owen. Ok? The truth does."

Owen watched her carefully, his breath hitching in his throat as she let her hand graze back down his cheek and drop to her side. She just stood there, then. Waiting for an answer. And it was quite clear that only one would do. "Ok," he sighed, almost a whisper, and relief visibly washed over her. "You win, boss." She smiled a little, and it was a _real_ smile, so he held his hands up in mock surrender and closed the deal: "The whole truth and nothing but. You got it."

Claire closed her eyes and took a huge breath. "Thank you," she rasped then took a little step backwards, giving him a firm nod, and turned to head back to her car.

He watched her go, and thought briefly about letting her off the hook, but – well where was the fun in that? Smugly, his hands came to his hips as the gap between them widened, and he called after her. "So you're my girlfriend now?"

She froze, eyes wide, though she didn't turn around. _Dammit_ , she thought. She had a feeling he wouldn't let that slide. "Oh…uhm," she stammered, casting furtive glances to the side as if there were some reprieve to be found in the surrounding jungle. "You know, I just said that to uhm—" she half turned, and she could see him walking towards her so she looked away again. "I was just…making a point—"

"Uh-huh." And then he was right behind her, and she felt his hand at the small of her back – a gentle nudge there which turned her instantly to face him. Their eyes locked and she had the strangest sensation that she was tumbling forward as he closed the space between them -his smile no longer smug- dropped his gaze from her eyes to her lips and kissed her.

Just as stunned as she'd been the first time, she wasn't quite sure what to do with her hands and eventually slid them up his shoulders for support more than anything else. He responded in full, wrapping one arm around her waist and pressing her to him while the other trailed up her back. She held on tighter then, fearing her knees might give out at any moment as she wrapped her arms around his neck and rose up on her tip toes – God he was tall! For a few heavenly moments the world slid away – InGen, Masrani Global, the couple 100 guests still inexplicably insisting on having the rest of their paid-for stay at the Hilton Isla Nublar – all of it melted away into nothing as he held her, kissed her, solidified much of what they'd left just hanging there after that first kiss-me-you-saved-me-from-a-dimorphodon madness.

In the wake of the Indominus's defeat and the ensuing guest relations nightmares, not to mention her nephews still around, there hadn't been time to talk about it. And then…she didn't really _want_ to talk about it – afraid that addressing it might bring about some awkward explanation of it having been the heat-of-the-moment. Impulsive. Forgettable.

There was nothing forgettable about this kiss, and Claire had the feeling that he was making damn sure that she'd _never_ be able to forget him now as he finally drew back, securing both arms around her waist. "So you're my girlfriend now," his low voice rumbled, and this time it wasn't a question. She looked up and sighed. That smug grin had returned but the tenderness in his eyes remained as he brushed a tendril of hair that had escaped her clip back behind her ear.

She smiled up at him and finally relaxed as he touched his forehead to hers. "If you insist," she sighed.

"Works for me."

…


	3. Act Now, Questions Later

**Sticking together…for survival**

[Disclaimer: I claim no ownership or rights to the creation of any characters/situations/plot points by Universal and the creative team behind _Jurassic Park_ and/or _World_.]

**Claire Dearing and Owen Grady deal with the aftermath of the June 12th incident at Jurassic World…together.**

 _Act Now, Questions Later_

Clever, cunning, fast…and one hell of an attitude. That about summed up Blue.

In the aftermath of the Indominus attack, most of the animals had been fairly easy to round up, even the T-Rex whose age and declining speed proved advantages for the ACU in their efforts to use non-lethal tactics to recapture Jurassic Park's original alpha. Most of the pterosaurs, unfortunately, had been shot down or injured in the wake of the assault on Main Street that had killed, among a handful of others, Claire's assistant, Zara Young. And Owen had watched with his own eyes the very life drained out of the majority of their Apatosaurus herd. But while the Indominus had wreaked much havoc on the island, hundreds of animals had survived, and Owen knew it would be only a matter of days before the park was secure enough to reopen portions of attractions for stubborn, asshole guests and perimeter fences were restored to keep out the remaining threats. Of course, none of that guaranteed that it'd be easy to find Jurassic World's only remaining raptor.

From the moment they were born, he had worked hard to position himself as the "alpha" of their pack, using half studied-half improvised tactics he'd learned both in the navy and at NSU. Handpicked by Hoskins for his work with SEAL teams stationed in both jungle and undersea environments and his ethology studies at Nova Southeastern, Owen Grady was InGen security's ideal choice for their disastrous dino-weapons program.

At the time (and the way it was pitched of course), InGen's offer was a no-brainer for Owen: early discharge, completion of his degree, and a chance to study and perhaps successfully train a pack of de-extinct velociraptors from birth? Plus Central American climate? food? women? What was not to love about this idea? It was only after he and his right-hand lieutenant, Barry, started reading between the lines of the company memos that they'd figured out Vic's real endgame. These raptors were being studied with the idea in mind that, one day, enough control could be achieved to turn the Cretaceous period's most notorious theropods into an on-command pack of military huntresses. Whiskey…Tango…Foxtrot.

"Still tracking her?" Owen yelled into the small microphone attached to his lapel as his Scrambler roared over the smooth terrain of the abandoned park's dirt roads.

"50 meters!" came Barry's voice through his earpiece, and Owen glanced to either side, noting Barry atop his four-wheeler to his left and Leslie to his right, trailing slightly behind them in the cruiser with Sal, Rick, Jesse and Big Deek. Theirs was a dangerous mission, but carefully planned. With no one left in her pack, Blue had turned rogue which meant she was vulnerable and liable to be suffering from extreme separation anxiety. This would have made it very difficult for her to hunt this past week, for although she was one of the most aggressive dinosaur species left on the island, she was also among the smallest. Without Charlie, Delta and Echo behind her, Blue on her own was no longer a match even for the gentlest stegosaurus. Owen knew she would have resorted to preying on very small indigenous mammals or scavenging. It explained her presence at the island's edge near the sight of the old park as John Hammond and InGen's abandonment of that sight had restored much of its natural ecosystem. Therefore, Owen was fairly certain Blue would have found ways to survive (after all, she didn't need the nice humans tossing her dead rats in order to eat). What Owen was most worried about was the likelihood of finding her social interaction index substantially devolved. She would most likely _recognize_ Owen, and probably Barry too. But would she respond? The day Indominus escaped was the very _first_ day he'd made measurable progress in securing and invoking his alpha status. Would any shred of that connection remain after a week on her own?

He'd been sharing these very concerns with Claire about an hour before they'd set out: "You'll know what to do when you find her," she'd told him, offering as encouraging a smile as she'd been able to muster for a mission that involved his pursuit of an animal who days ago had smashed its head through the driver's side window of the med van she'd been driving and tried to bite her hand off. "Just like Main Street," she'd added with a nudge.

 _Main Street_ , he thought now, shaking his head, reflecting on the moment he'd regained Blue's trust just before she, Echo and Delta had finished them off. He knew Claire had just been offering support, and he couldn't – wouldn't – fault her for that, but this was _so_ not the same thing.

"We're closing in! 15 meters!" shouted Barry and the entire team came to a halt just short of the ridge from which they'd planned to launch their capture. Motors quieted, his team dismounted, and – armed with tranquilizers and (as a last resort) Taser sticks – they crept toward the edge of the ridge and crouched before the small valley where, in a clearing of trees, lay Blue.

"Well now we know why she hasn't moved much in 40 minutes," whispered Leslie, nodding toward her hand-held infrared tracking beacon. "How lucky is this that she's sleeping?" But Owen appeared not to be listening. Since laying eyes on the raptor, he could already tell something was wrong. "Owen?" Leslie nudged his arm. "Hey, what's—"

"She's not sleeping," Owen said quietly, lowering his weapon and slowly rising to his feet – way above the sight line of the ridge and killing any chance they had of a stealthy approach.

"Owen!" hissed Deek. "Get down!"

But he'd already made up his mind; Owen glanced down at Barry who also seemed to understand, and the two of them, laying their weapons on the ground, started trudging down the embankment.

"Wha—guys!?" spat Jesse, shrinking away from their group. But as the two men drew closer and Blue remained still, the sad truth was soon clear to all of them: this velociraptor was no longer a threat.

Owen reached her first, his heart sinking to his stomach as he crouched beside her. Breaths labored, wheezing, Blue tried to arch her neck around to see him, her movements a vague echo of predator instincts as her claws extended and her nostrils flared. She barked in agitation as Barry also settled near her; Owen placed a hand along the ridge of her spine and, much as he did with the Apatosaurus, made soothing shushing noises as he and Barry inspected her injuries.

"Bite marks," said Barry, pointing to several deep, triangle shaped gashes around her neck. One such wound seemed to have penetrated a crucial artery– the fatal blow so to speak – from which blood oozed down her reptilian skin.

Owen recognized the shapes all too clearly. He had some of the same shaped scars on his back. "Pteradons," he shook his head.

"And dimorphs," Barry acknowledged other crescent-shaped gashes in the skin near her ribs. "The wounds are recent," he added, peering hard at the trickling blood from fresh wounds.

"Dammit," whispered Owen. Indeed, it appeared – quite distressingly – that a few of JW's escaped pterosaurs had zeroed in for the kill, pecking and slashing at the lone raptor, without her pack to counter them, leaving Blue to waste away on the jungle floor of the old grounds of Jurassic Park…only hours, it appeared, before they'd found her.

Barry glanced up over Blue's body at Owen, whose face had grown eerily stoic. He was trying hard, Barry knew, to remain calm, to assess what needed to be done. But inside he knew that his old friend's heart was breaking – that Owen blamed himself even more so than Hoskins or Wu. "Easy girl," he whispered as Blue tried to arch up even further, snapping her jaws in a few defensive bites that necessitated Barry jerking backwards. "Easy," he said again. But the raptor's old trainers seemed to be making things worse. Blue screeched and writhed in an aggravated state of anxiety. Viciously she clawed at the ground, kicking up her feet then trying to dig into the dried-out dirt to find her footing. Owen sprung up and staggered back, Barry doing the same directly opposite. They gave her a wide berth, waiting to see if she'd be able to haul herself upwards, but she crashed back to the ground with a terrible thud and continued to wheeze. Only now did Owen take a good look at his surroundings and noted long trail of blood behind them. The sight of it froze him in anger, so much so that he jumped when Leslie grazed his arm.

"Sorry," she said for startling him. "Didn't mean to—"

"It's fine," he mumbled, then approached Blue once more.

"What's the damage?" he heard Deek asking her behind him.

"Bad," she said quietly. "Looks like something bit into its carotid artery."

Owen and Barry crouched down again, both having recognized that Blue's attempt to stand would be her last.

"What do you think?" Barry asked him as he watched Owen scoot right up to her backside again and place his hand on her scaly, wheezing chest cavity. This time Blue didn't seem to mind, and in fact arched back to look at her old alpha, making those soft clicking noises Owen had come to understand as an acknowledgment that he was not a threat. He reached in his vest pocket and drew forth his own clicker, the one he'd used to train them since infancy. He replied with a few clicks of his own. "Good," he whispered. "That's damn good, Blue." Tiredly, as if she'd spent too much energy to even crane backward, Blue's head fell to the jungle floor and she let out another painful whimper. Owen shook his head and drew back, closing his eyes and steeling himself against what he knew needed to be done. "Christ," he mumbled as he met Barry's gaze, and he could tell they'd reached the same conclusion.

"Is what's best," Barry said quietly.

Owen nodded as Blue rasped another life-draining breath. "Yeah," he sighed. "It is."

…

Claire knew it was probably a better idea that she leave him alone. After all, he'd raised Blue from birth and – well, while raptors weren't exactly puppies – she knew he'd felt entirely responsible for what had happened to the entire pack. She'd seen this before, of course. The bond between trainer and animal can be sometimes just as strong if not more so than that of your average domesticated pet. Having spent six years of event planning at Sea World before Masrani hired her on here, Claire had seen more than her fair share of trainers growing attached to their dolphins, orcas, otters…you name it. But while many of those connections ended through relocation of man or beast, illness, or non-fatal accidents in controlled environments, she had a feeling that nothing compared to Owen having to put her down himself – having to terminate Blue in order to spare her pain.

"By the time we found her...was nothing we could do," Barry had explained to her when they arrived back at the paddock, raptor-less and without Owen himself. "He didn't hesitate."

 _He didn't hesitate,_ she thought to herself now as she pulled the company Mercedes into the small dirt area that served as a makeshift driveway for his seaside bungalow. She wasn't at all surprised, really. Owen Grady never hesitated. From the moment they'd met he'd always been an 'act now, ask questions later' kind of guy. That used to irritate the hell out of her. After wrapping up the joint staff meeting between park directors and Masrani's new raptor research team, he'd walked right over without ceremony and flat out _told_ her they should go out to dinner. She'd driven here at Masrani's request and he'd wasted no time in lecturing her about the importance of recognizing the assets as living, breathing animals. They'd arrived at the I-Rex's paddock and he instantly pointed out the flaws in their design and upbringing of the creature…She'd asked him to help find her nephews, and he'd taken her straight to his car.

Now as she climbed the clunky steps of his small hut on the island's shore, she knew it was this very tenacity of his that had led to such success with the raptor program in the first place. How could a man, day after day, enter a paddock full of predators and expect _not_ to be ripped to shreds with anything less than 100% confidence? And how could that same man pull that trigger today without knowing, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it was the right thing to do for Blue?

"Owen?" she called out then gulped in surprise at how meek her voice sounded. She clutched tighter to the small brown bag in her hand, cleared her throat, and called out louder. "Owen?" Faintly she heard some shifting in the distance, but in the darkness of night, she could barely see anything in the small shack, and the attached trailer to the left showed no signs of life either. She stepped carefully, fearful of bumping into something valuable. Then a shadowed figure caught her eye and she peered through the small bunker, spying a sort of makeshift porch through the back door at the other end of the room. And there he was, leaning over a creaky railing, looking out at the shore. _Act now, questions later,_ she told herself and, with a firmer grip, walked through to the back door, pushed it open and stepped out on the porch next to him. "Hey," she said softly.

Owen barely answered, managing only a grunt and a nod while continuing to stare at the waves lapping up on his small plot of Costa Rican land. She looked down at the half-empty beer in his hand and frowned, propping up one elbow on the wood railing to face him. _Yep_ , she thought, feeling foolish, _probably should have left him alone._ But she'd come this far, and she would offer him what she could. "I um…Barry told me what happened."

Again he nodded, shifting his weight from one leg to the other and rolling the bottle between his palms. "Uh huh."

She glanced down again at the package in her hand, "Did you um…I mean do you—"

"No offense Claire?" he said quietly, his voice strained and uneven. "But I'm not in a real chit-chatty mood right now."

Claire stepped back, rushing to answer. "I know. I'm not here to chit chat."

At that, Owen scoffed, set his beer to the side and finally glanced down at her. "Really."

"Really," she assured him, then dropped her gaze and took another huge gulp as she pulled from her bag…a brand new bottle of tequila. "I just thought," she held it before him, "you might need a bit of therapy."

Owen stared at her.

"I um," she swallowed hard, "I've been told it's the...best kind."

He watched her nervously holding out what was actually a pretty decent brand of tequila, and a very faint smile snuck up on him, cracking through his hardened façade.

"In all honesty," she started rambling, "I don't even know if it's the _right_ kind. I really _don't_ drink this stuff, but the guy at the counter said—"

And suddenly he was kissing her. She barely saw him coming, he moved so swiftly. But she stepped easily, naturally into his embrace as he plucked the bottle from her hands, set it down on the railing, and wrapped one arm around her waist. Claire smoothed her hands up his chest and pulled him closer, circling her arms up around his neck as he cupped her cheek in one palm then slid his fingers through her hair, massaging her nape.

He kissed her soundly, almost violent in his need for her, and just as Claire started to feel like he'd never let her up for air, he tore his mouth from hers and buried his head in her shoulder. There was a desperation to his embrace that she hadn't felt before, a sense of urgency that she dare not deny him now as he held her so tight she could barely breathe. "I'm so sorry, Owen" she whispered, her voice hitching as she squeezed back.

He shook his head, forcing himself backward in embarrassment. "No," he rasped, finally releasing her. "I'm-I'm sorry…that was…I don't know what—"

This time, she cut _him_ off. Letting instinct guide her, she clasped the lapels of his vest and yanked him toward her, claiming him with another kiss, coaxing his lips apart with her own in a less-than-subtle hint that she not only didn't mind, but needed him as much as he needed her.

He crushed her to him then, gripping her by the arms and kissing back fiercely while a single tear trickled down his cheek; weeks of pent up stress and frustration over so many things gone wrong had finally reached their breaking point. She slid her arms back around his neck as he traced the curves of her body, settling his hands at her waist. Only then did he even register her change in outfit from earlier that day. Gone were the tight, confining apparels of corporate life. She was standing there in a pair of jeans and sneakers, with an open flannel blouse tied near the bottom in a knot over a… _very_ thin tank-top. Reaching down, he unknotted the flannel and slid it down her shoulders. She shrugged out of it then similarly went for his vest, and before they knew it, they were frantically maneuvering themselves out of each other's clothing and stumbling toward the bed of his trailer.

His overall physique did not surprise her. Even when she couldn't stand him, Claire always allowed that Owen Grady was a devastatingly good looking man with an equally devastating body. But as he pressed her into the mattress, raining kisses down her neck and across her collarbone, Claire found herself completely unprepared…for the scars. His arms and chest were covered in them – some looked like bullet wounds, but most were healed-over gashes and scratch marks. No wonder he was the only man of his entire rag tag raptor team who never walked around without a shirt on. Delicately, she traced her fingers along healed bruises and cuts, and he gasped, abruptly pulling back and propping up on his elbow beside her.

Mistaking his reaction, she jerked her hand back. "Sorry," she whispered.

He smiled and brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. "Don't be," he said, glancing down at the admittedly nasty scar that trailed from his neck to his right shoulder. "Perks of the job."

Timidly, she reached up again, smoothing her fingers along the healed skin. "Was this…her?"

Pulse racing at her gentle touch, Owen swallowed hard. "Who, Blue?"

She nodded.

"Nah, this one was Charlie," he explained. "First time we were with them in the new paddock. Only ten weeks old but she already had a mean right hook."

She chuckled and continued down his arm, pausing at another, more faded gash just above his elbow. "And this one?"

He shook his head and smiled. " _That_ was Blue…but she wasn't attacking me. Happened at two weeks—"

"Two?!"

He nodded. "She was trying to climb up my back. Wanted a higher view of the guys looking through the observation window."

She blew out a sigh and laid her head in the crook of his arm. "Wow."

He cocked his head to the side. "What?"

Claire bit her bottom lip. "Nothing, it's just…" she trailed off, struggling to find the right words. Her mind flashed back to that horrible night; when everywhere they turned, man was fighting beast and beast was winning. They'd all narrowly escaped the pterosaur raid on Main Street and sped toward the raptor paddock where Hoskins was waiting to unleash the pack. _Stay away from my animals!_ he'd said. Even then. _MY animals._ She brushed the backs of her knuckles over another similar scratch on his forearm and then met his gaze. "They were obviously…so much more than research to you."

Owen gazed down at her, eyes brimming with unshed tears. He closed his eyes with a solemn nod. "Yeah," he rasped after a time. "Yeah they were."

She studied him carefully, feeling a bit of the "old Claire" sneaking in as she thought perhaps they should just call this off – gracefully retreat before they went too far, did something they'd regret. But as hard as she looked, contemplated, rationalized, she could find nothing to regret about this man. In fact, against all odds – and certainly in screaming opposition to every shred of logic left in her brain – she probably loved this man. She couldn't possibly _tell_ him that of course. No sense in completely ruining—

"I love you, Claire," he whispered– suddenly – fiercely, opening his eyes and letting tears roll down his cheeks.

She gaped at him, butterflies swarming her stomach as he gazed down at her. Was he kidding? (Was he psychic?!) She reached up and brushed a few tears away with the pad of her thumb. He grasped her hand in his as she did so, kissed the inside of her palm then held it to his heart. Claire came undone. She arched upward and kissed him again as he wrapped her tightly in his arms, slipping both hands underneath her and caressing up and down her back. He loved her, she thought. Without ceremony, without caveat, without the hemming and hawing and obligatory nonsense that seemed to precede this declaration every other time in her life she'd heard it. He loved her…how in the world— but as she pulled back and held his face in her hands, the incredible but plain truth was there in his eyes. Act now, questions later. Owen Grady _still_ didn't hesitate. He loved her.

She kissed his forehead, his eyes, his tears. "Show me," she whispered as her own eyes welled up in turn.

And he spent the rest of the night...proving it.

…


	4. From Bad to Worse

**Sticking together…for survival**

[Disclaimer: I claim no ownership or rights to the creation of any characters/situations/plot points by Universal and the creative team behind _Jurassic Park_ and/or _World_.]

**Claire Dearing and Owen Grady deal with the aftermath of the June 12th incident at Jurassic World…together.**

 _From Bad to Worse_

Following the horrific experience of the I-Rex incident, Claire Dearing had sworn she'd never _ever_ wear white again. It was a crazy thought, of course. Right up there with ballplayers wearing the same pair of socks or not shaving during a winning streak, but she couldn't help it. From the moment she'd finally been able to shrug out of that filthy, blood and sweat-stained business suit she'd unfortunately chosen that morning for her Verizon Wireless meeting, she'd literally burned the skirt, jacket and tank top and vowed to never even _look_ at another white dress. Until _now_ of course.

"What're you thinking about?" Owen murmured in her ear as he held her close, swaying lightly to the music filling the hall.

She looked up and grinned, "My meeting with Verizon Wireless."

He pulled back and jerked his gaze down at her. "Your what?"

"Kidding," she laughed, kissing him lightly. "I'm thinking about how lucky I am," she whispered in his ear.

"Mmm, lucky that you found such a strong, handsome, raptor wrangler to keep you company for all eternity?" his eyes crinkled into a mischievous grin.

"No," she teased back, "Lucky I got such a good deal on the catering."

Owen laughed outright, throwing his head back as he dipped her then brought her up for another kiss.

"Claire!" came a genial voice behind them as a familiar face moved through the crowded dance floor amongst the sea of tuxes and evening gowns. "Congratulations my dear!"

Claire turned and beamed a warm smile at her boss. "Mr. Masrani," she said. "I'm so glad you could make it."

"I would not miss it for the world," he held his arms out in that big, philanthropic way of his and laughed. "Who would have thought, hmm? That this day would come?"

"Not me, that's for damn sure," chuckled Owen as Claire smoothed her palms down the shiny white satin of her dress, rolling her eyes at all the sparkly little adornments Karen had insisted upon adding at one of her _many_ fittings.

"And you look beautiful, of course," he gestured at the gown, "spared no expense!"

"Thank you," she smiled. "Please, enjoy your evening, and—" it was only then that she really noticed Masrani's odd choice of fashion this evening. He was dressed to the nines of course – Armani tuxedo, shoes shined like mirrors, but he was also wearing his helicopter helmet.

"Claire," came a dull voice to her right. "Don't forget you have that meeting at 4:00." Claire turned to find Zara typing away on her smart phone.

"Oh!" said Claire, snapping out of her confusion. "Right, thank you." She nodded then turned back to Owen. "I'll be right—" when she turned back, he wasn't there. "Owen?"

"Aunt Claire!" shouted a familiar voice and Claire whirled around to see Zach barreling after her. "Zach! I wondered when you would…wait, what're you—"

Zach grabbed her arm, not letting her finish what she thought by now should be an obvious question for everyone. Why was Zach dressed in jeans and a red tee-shirt for her wedding? She would definitely have to have a word with Karen about—

"Come on, hurry! We have to get out of here!" he yelled. And yanking his aunt behind her, the teenager took off.

"Zach, what the hell is going—"

"Look!" he yelled, pointing around the corner. Claire raced after him, passing through what now seemed like dozens of rooms in the giant reception hall, and finally ducked into the kitchen galley. Rounding what seemed another endless series of stained steel corridors, they at last spilled out…into the observation deck of paddock 9.

A man stood at the huge pane of glass that allowed guests to see T-Rex feedings first hand. He smelled like sweat and it appeared he hadn't shaved in five days. "Lowery?"

"Paddock 9 Claire? Are you crazy?"

"You have to stop it Claire!" yelled Zach.

"Stop what!?" she cried, feeling suddenly as if the world were spinning.

"You know, you should put that on the brochure," said Lowery, dryly. His tone in no way matched that of her frantic nephew.

"Put it on the—wh-what?"

"That," he pointed down into the paddock as he took a bite from a Pepsisaur can she hadn't noticed before. " _Eventually_ these things will eat somebody."

Claire felt suddenly as if her feet were heavy as clay. "Eat some—no…" she shook her head, then looked down at her dress. It was ruined, tattered, covered in mud. "No we…we got away—" she argued, though Zach had vanished.

"No…we didn't," he responded, but the voice wasn't Lowery's. She looked up slowly. It was Owen, wearing that same goddamn utility vest she wished he'd just throw away.

"Owen what're you doing back in that thing?" she nervously chuckled, "It's our—"

"You already did, you know," he responded, eyes dark and accusing.

"Did what?"

He pointed slowly at the glass. "Turned this place into a war zone."

And suddenly Claire was standing right before the glass and watching in horror as the T-Rex lifted a man into its massive jaws – no – not a man – a boy – GRAY!—

—Claire shot up in bed, drenched in sweat and gasping for air as the horrific sight shocked her awake. She shivered and hugged her arms, rubbing her clammy hands up and down her skin as her eyes adjusted to her surroundings– not that there was much to see, though there was some dim florescent lighting bleeding through the curtains drawn over the balcony doors. She shivered, suddenly realizing that she was freezing, and looked down at the man sleeping beside her. Owen must have turned the air up after she'd fallen asleep…again. She rolled her eyes with a half-grin as she grabbed the hoody she'd placed at the foot of the bed for precisely this scenario. Why did he always have to have the air on so damn high?

Sliding carefully from the bed, Claire moved lightly across the room and slid open the heavy glass door. Glancing back to make sure she didn't wake him, she slipped onto the balcony and breathed in. It had to be at least 15 degrees warmer in the muggy LA air than it was inside, and for once Claire didn't mind the humidity or the industrial buzzing of neon signs and generators humming over the cracked and cratered parking lot –their current "luxury" view.

 _How the mighty have fallen,_ she thought with a sad chuckle, remembering when not so very long ago Misrani Global had put her up in the finest Westin suites when they'd sent her out to make presentations to new investors or secure sponsorship with companies that didn't want to bother sending representatives to Costa Rica. Now here she was in the aptly named Last Stop Motel, jobless and waiting for another in a long line of legal proceedings to end.

She supposed it could be worse. The Republic could have elected to pursue criminal charges against her. Sixteen families, including Zara's, could have chosen to sue Claire personally rather than Masrani Global itself for dangerous asset development, inadequate safety protocols and reckless endangerment. Of course, none of that made any easier the barrage of reporters and paparazzi stalking her every move, the fact that they'd had to change hotels three times already since the official trial began to keep at bay the name calling and fruit throwing as she walked to and from the LA courthouse…or the sickening feeling that had returned to the pit of her stomach since leaving the island that it really _was_ her head that belonged on the chopping block and no outcome here could put to rest that lingering guilt.

Lost in thought, she didn't notice the lamplight switch on through the window behind her and jolted as the door slid open again and a groggy Owen, still half asleep and rubbing his eyes, stepped onto the balcony holding her phone to his ear.

"Hey," she whispered, "what's—"

"Yeah man," he rasped into the speaker, clearing his throat and still shaking himself awake. "She's right here, hang on." He flipped the phone towards her and plopped it in her palm. "It's Gray."

Claire closed her eyes for a beat and she bit her lip, the last horrific image of her dream coming sharply into focus. _I'm sorry,_ she mouthed to Owen who shook his head and waved her off, gesturing for her to take it as he settled into a green striped poolside chair that looked as if it had been stolen from another hotel and simply thrown out here on a dare.

"Gray?" she asked and listened to the timid voice reply.

Owen stretched out his legs and yawned as Claire talked to her nephew, watching as she rested her elbows on the balcony railing and tucked one foot behind her other ankle. "No no, it's ok, what's wrong?" she asked, listened, then spoke again. "Gray, it's fine what's—" she paused and turned a soft grin on Owen. "Oh he's half back asleep already, don't even worry about it." Owen cocked an eyebrow and she smirked. "What happened?...Uh huh…" she turned around just as Owen dropped one leg over the side of the beach chair and made room for her. "Oh Gray," she murmured, "that's awful." She listened more, nodding and frowning as she stepped away from the railing. "Sure it's still scary. And don't let anyone ever tell you—" Owen could hear Gray's high pitched voice talking a mile a minute through the phone as Claire settled down on the foot of the chair, leaning against his other leg for support. "Well sure I do, why do you think _I'm_ awake right now?" There it was, Owen thought, confirming what he'd suspected about why she was out here in the first place. Nightmares…both of them. "It's _okay,_ Gray. You know you can always call me. I—" Owen saw something flicker across face, something bitter and resentful. "I know, I saw it too." He leaned forward. "I just…try not to look at that stuff sweetie. And you shouldn't either."

"What'd he—" Owen whispered.

"Shh," she shook her head, waving him off. "I know you know that—" she sighed as Gray cut in once more. She felt Owen slip his hand beneath hers, resting on the edge of the cheap plastic. "I know Zach knows it too, and you know what?" she adopted an overly chipper voice, one she knew wouldn't fool Owen but hoped would ease her nephew's piece of mind, "That's all I need to get through it, ok? Who cares what anyone else thinks, right?...I'm sure your brother would agree with that, huh?" Owen gave her hand a squeeze and she squeezed back. "Ok. You go back to sleep – _don't_ dream, ok? Just rest…" she paused and her voice caught in her throat. "You too, Gray. G'night." She clicked off.

"What was that about?" Owen asked, his voice still a low morning rumble.

"Nightmares," she shrugged. "He…didn't want to wake up Zach again."

Owen shook his head as he laced his fingers through her own and kissed the back of her hand. "I got _that_ part. What 'stuff' shouldn't he look at?"

Claire sighed. "He…saw that picture on _Twitter._ "

"The one with—"

"My face photo-shopped on the head of a T-Rex holding a "Safety First" sign? Yeah, that one."

He shook his head and leaned back against the chair, "Assholes."

Claire tucked her phone into the pocket of her hoody which was now getting a little too warm. "Gotta give 'em points for creativity," she rolled up her sleeves and twisted to face him, resting her hand and chin to his knee.

"I don't hafta give 'em squat," he scoffed.

She sighed as she leaned into him. "Yeah well…I can't really blame 'em."

"Oh come on, Claire," he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're not even the one on trial here. Zara's own mother said she didn't blame you."

Claire squeezed her eyes shut and tried to blot out the recent memory; it was bad enough that she'd had to hear about Zara's horrific death recounted by her own nephews, but to be absolved of it so forgivingly by her former assistant's kin had been a bit too much to handle yesterday.

Clarissa Young had been one of the first people to join the class action suit against JW and Masrani Global after finding what compensation both companies _had_ offered in the wake of the initial incident not only insufficient, but insulting. During the court's lunch recess, the older woman made a point of seeking out her daughter's former employer. _"You gave Zara a second chance with that place,"_ she'd said through brave, bleary eyes. _"She never thought she'd work again after that whole email…fiasco."_ Zara and Claire had attended and in fact co-hosted a number of leadership seminars along the west coast before being hired by Sony Digital and Masrani Global respectively. Having been let go in the wake of damaging and disparaging emails that had been uncovered from hers and several associate producer inboxes during the infamous hacking incident, Zara had called Claire's office almost immediately for help, and Claire had offered her a job that day. _"She would have done anything for you, dear,"_ Clarissa had insisted. _Including,_ thought Claire bitterly, _babysitting my nephews because I was too busy to watch them myself?_

Having watched the exchange from afar, Owen had a feeling it had had the exact opposite effect on Claire than he was sure was intended. "But I _am_ the only high-profile name and face left with Masrani gone," she argued, ignoring his comment about Zara altogether. "So regardless who wins the suit, I get the brunt of the blame no matter what."

He sighed and straightened up which jolted her upright as well. "What's your point?" he tried patiently, now straddling the chair, both feet plopped over either side.

"I…just…" she struggled and finally pushed herself off the chair and returned to her railing. Honestly, she didn't know what her point was. "I just…think it'd be easier to just…own up to it."

Owen shook his head, wiping his palms past his temples. Christ, it was hot out here. "And then what? Take _all_ the responsibility and let JW get away with paying minimal damages?"

"No—"

"Let Masrani's goons make you feel even worse than you already do?" he stood up and stepped over the chair to join her at the railing.

"Not sure that's possible," she mumbled.

"Claire," he turned her to face him. "We went through this _six_ months ago, remember? They came. They questioned. They fired you. I quit. We left, right? And when this whole…" he waved his hand absently as a passing semi honked along the highway, "lawsuit thing is over, we're meeting up with Barry 'down under' and we're gonna treat those animals the way they deserve…together. _Why_ are you starting this all up again?"

"I'm not _starting_ anything," she rolled her eyes.

"Yes, you are," he held her at arm's length with both hands now. "You're all set to throw yourself to the wolves again. Why?"

"Because I sit in that courtroom every day and I have to relive it, Owen!" she yanked herself away from him and took a step back. "I've been watching that monitor flashing pictures of all those faces – 25 people dead, over and over again on repeat. Mr. Otto and Enrique, Hamada, Zara – even Hoskins. And all I keep thinking is how _your_ face could just as easily be up there, or Gray's or Zach's. Every decision I made that day led us from _bad_ to _worse_ —"

"That's not true—"

"And don't you dare bring up the goddamn T-Rex thing again," she warned him as she headed back inside, suddenly craving the AC. He followed her.

"Wasn't gonna," he countered as he pulled the door shut. "And for the record, this isn't some picnic for me either—"

Her shoulders slumped as she halted in the doorway to the bathroom. "I know," she said quietly.

"You have any idea what it's like to be _me_ right now?" he stalked over to her and pulled her back into the main room. "What it's like to be the guy whose deposition is actually the strongest testimony the defense _has_? The strongest testimony against _you_?"

Claire let out a tired sigh. "I…I know," she said again, not wanting to look up. Truth be told, she was _glad_ Owen had done as she'd asked. His testimony would at least give a clear picture of the events leading up to the I-Rex escape. After days of Masrani reps and JW executives blabbering on about their oh so infallible security measures, when and how their policies and handbooks were crafted and what did and did not constitute grounds for evacuation, she was kind of relieved that they'd be hearing about the actual day in question tomorrow. She couldn't tell Owen that, of course.

"Look," his voice softened as he tipped her chin up to meet his gaze. "I know this whole…martyr routine of yours somehow makes it easier for you to get through it." He felt her tense at the word _martyr_ , knowing he was striking a nerve, but there was no other way to put it. "But if you really want to 'own up to it' then you should own up to _all_ of it."

Her eyes narrowed, "What are you talking about?"

"All of it, Claire," he repeated and then finally let his hands drop. "The things you did wrong…and the things you did right."

She sighed and dipped her head, tempted to point out that there really wasn't a whole lot she _did_ do right...but in the end, she was exhausted. And it didn't seem right to punish him for being far more than she deserved. "I'm sorry," she whispered. With a deep breath, she rested her head against his chest and his arms settled instantly around her waist.

She felt him chuckle. "Yeah, well you should be. Need my beauty sleep and all."

She smiled and lifted her gaze, doing her best to ignore the guilt still stewing inside her. "Of course you do, what was I thinking?"

He bent his head and kissed her, lightly at first, then deep and simmering as he felt her relax in his arms. After a long while, he pulled back and rested his chin on her head. "So you gonna tell me?"

Her forehead creased. "Tell you?"

He pulled back and held her gaze. "Bout your dream?"

Claire's eyes widened as a blinding white wedding dress flashed in her mind. "Not a chance."

…

After the usual routine of calling the room to order, the imposing Judge Franklin busied himself with the first of what would be many drinks from his pitcher of water as Rice drew his papers together, called Owen to the stand, and had him sworn in.

"Mr. Grady," began Jensen Rice, lead attorney for Masrani Global, whose job today would be to make Claire Dearing, Jurassic World's former Operations Manager and Asset Development Director look as incompetent and culpable for the events of the I-Rex attack as possible, thus proving that the majority of the incident could be attributed to human error rather than a lack of sufficient safety measures and protocols in place. His unwitting accomplice in this affair would be Owen Grady, whose testimony had indeed proven _very_ informative when he'd first taken statements back in June and his more formal deposition this past December. "Can you please state for the courts your exact title and role with respect to Masrani Global and Jurassic World in early June 2015?"

Owen shifted uncomfortably in the one suit he owned and tried hard to focus on the EXIT sign in the back of the courtroom. "I was part of a research team headed by InGen."

"InGen?"

"The technology and security division for Masrani Global."

"And what is it that your team researched?"

"We were tasked with determining the intelligence level of a certain…species of dinosaur."

"What species?"

"Velociraptor," he said, drawing the first low murmur of the day in the courtroom.

"So you were not an actual employee of the _park_ , is that correct?"

"I was not."

"Not even part of Asset Containment?"

"No. But I did work closely with—"

"That answer will suffice, Mr. Grady thank you. When were you made aware that JW Incorporated had commissioned a new, genetically modified breed of dinosaur?"

Owen looked down. "That morning."

"The morning of the incident on June 15th?"

"Yes."

Rice continued. "What were you told at the time about this new breed's genetic makeup?"

"I was told its base genome was T-Rex. The rest was classified."

"And who told you it was classified?"

Owen sucked in a breath – _here we go._ "Ms. Dearing," he mumbled.

"Thank you. Now, _why_ did Ms. Claire Dearing feel the need to share this information with you?"

"Mr. Masrani had her bring me in as a consultant to inspect the Indominus paddock."

"The Indominus Rex, or I-Rex, you mean."

Owen rolled his eyes. "Yes."

"And are you a structural engineer Mr. Grady?"

"…No."

"Are you in any way professionally certified to judge the strength of steel, cinderblock or industrial glass?"

"No." Owen said again and foolishly hazarded a glance to the pen. The media was already stirring, reporters whispering to each other, murmuring their guesses as to what would be revealed next. He glanced back a few rows and found Claire – whose head was down.

"Mr. Grady, what _is_ your expertise exactly? What prompted Ms. Dearing to seek your counsel?"

"Mr. _Masrani_ asked me to consult," he insisted, determined to make this as hard on Rice as he could. "Ms. Dearing was just following orders." At that, Claire's gaze lifted from her lap, alarmed. _Just tell the truth,_ he heard her voice echo in his head. He intended to. The _whole_ truth.

"Yes, thank you," Rice said tightly and Owen felt the tiniest stab of satisfaction. "What of your expertise, Mr. Grady, prompted Mr. _Masrani_ to call upon your services?"

"Objection your honor," called head lawyer Bethany Ramis for the plaintiffs. "Speculation. Mr. Grady can't possibly know what the _late_ Mr. Masrani felt about his input or how it would be useful."

"I'll rephrase," said Rice without skipping a beat. "What in your background, to _your_ knowledge, led to your…recruitment by InGen?"

Owen took a deep breath. "I'm a former Navy SEAL," he started, "served on two teams during my tenure in underwater and jungle environments. Before that I was working on an ethnology degree at Nova University studying predatory behaviors in hierarchy pack hunters."

"Such as?"

Another deep breath, "Specifically the gray wolf, orcas—"

"As in, killer whales?"

"Yes. And certain species of hawk and crocodile."

"All of which made you perfectly qualified for your work with the velociraptor, a pack hunter," Rice finished; he'd certainly done his homework.

"I'm not sure anyone is _perfectly_ qualified to work with live dinosaurs, Mr. Rice."

There was a rumble of amusement in the courtroom, but Rice was not thrown. "Is the Indominus Rex a pack hunter, Mr. Grady?"

"I have no idea."

"And why not?"

"They didn't breed a pack."

"But was it not revealed later on that the I-Rex is in fact a hybrid of a T-Rex, as you say, and a velociraptor?"

"Yes, but I didn't know that at the time. I knew only that it was a hybrid."

"This didn't concern you?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It's my understanding that _all_ of JW's dinosaurs were genetic hybrids of some dino species mixed with the DNA of other animals to fill in the holes in the gene sequencing process. They could've crossed an Apatosaurus with a parrot for all I knew."

The general assembly laughed so loudly here that Judge Franklin rapped his gavel twice. Owen looked to Claire again – whose face had finally cracked into a small grin. He relaxed.

Rice, for the first time annoyed though hardly deterred, cleared his throat and pressed on. "Let's return to the morning in question, Mr. Grady. What _did_ you observe to Ms. Dearing during your…consultation at the I-Rex paddock?"

"I…mentioned that animals raised in isolation weren't always the most functional."

"In fact, you made specific reference to its feeding crane, did you not?"

"Yes."

"What did you conclude?"

"That the only relationship she'd ever had—"

"She?" Rice clipped him off.

Owen clenched his teeth. "The Indominus," he clarified. "The only thing she'd ever interacted with was the crane."

"And, did this fact trouble you?"

"Yes, but only because—"

"Did you say so to Ms. Dearing?"

Owen felt uneasy again. "Yes."

"Mr. Grady," Rice leaned in against the witness stand. "Tell us what happened when Ms. Dearing tried to attract the I-Rex's attention."

"We…couldn't see it. In the paddock."

"Couldn't _find_ it, you mean?"

"Yes."

"And then?"

"Ms. Dearing told the operator on duty—"

"The deceased Mr. Robert Otto?"

"…Yes," he glared at Rice who was as stoic here as he'd been back in Costa Rica. _Just get through this,_ he told himself. _Get it over with._ "She had him run an IF scan."

"Which is?"

"Infrared. The way we detect the location of the animals in the park. By searching for thermal radiation, we can get a fix on their location, size and number."

"And what were the results of that scan?"

"Negative."

"Meaning there _was_ no heat signature."

"Right, which meant the dinosaur _must have_ gotten out," Owen hastened to add.

Rice countered. "You mean it _appeared_ to have gotten out."

"…Yes."

"In actuality, Mr. Grady, wasn't it later discovered that the I-Rex could in fact alter its infrared output as a result of tree frog DNA used in its gene sequencing?"

"Yes. But we had _never_ seen that happen before—"

"So the I-Rex _was_ in fact, secured in its paddock?"

"…Yes."

"Mr. Grady," Rice took a deep breath and evidenced the first real bit of theatrics Owen had seen in the whole trial so far. Patiently he took out a handkerchief from his breast pocket, polished his glasses and replaced them on his nose. What a douche. "What did Ms. Dearing ask you to do next?"

Owen cringed, remembering his deposition, knowing what was coming. "She asked me to…inspect the paddock."

"Having run _one_ failed infrared scan, she asked you to inspect the paddock."

"Having run the scan _and_ after _I'd_ noticed scratch marks on the walls, yes."

The extra information didn't seem to bother Rice. "Mr. Grady, does Jurassic World have any other means of tracking the location of its animals?"

"Yes," he said.

"Could you…elaborate?"

Owen took a deep breath and determinedly _avoided_ Claire. "There are transmitters implanted along each animal's spine soon after infancy that have unique signatures which can pinpoint their exact location."

"Even without infrared output?"

"Yes."

"Did Ms. Dearing run a scan for this signal _before_ asking you to inspect the paddock?"

"…It was…my _understanding_ that she was headed to the control room to do just that—"

"But she didn't tell you to wait until that scan was completed?"

"…No."

"Couldn't she, in fact, have made that call right from the paddock control room?"

"She thought the Indominus had already escaped. We _all_ did. We were scrambling to make sure—"

"Your honor?" Rice turned abruptly on Judge Franklin and Owen jerked back in his seat.

The judge turned his sour gaze on Owen and sighed. "Mr. Grady I'm going to have to ask you to refrain from making editorial comments in your testimony. Please just answer the question."

Owen's shoulders sagged as he glanced once more at Claire. Her eyes were imploring him not to drag it out. _Don't make it difficult_ , she'd pled with him this morning. And yet he couldn't shake the feeling that he had to do _something._ "Yes," he sighed anyway, giving in. "She could've made the call from control room."

"But she didn't."

Finally, Bethany intervened. "Objection your Honor. Asked and answered."

"Withdrawn. Mr. Grady," Rice began again, "What happened when you went into the paddock?"

"Otto and I were joined by an ACU patrolman—"

"The deceased Enrique Juarez?"

"That's right. We were looking specifically at the scratch marks scaling up the wall."

"And what was your theory at the time?"

"That the I-Rex had found a way to climb out of the pen."

Then Rice actually – audibly – scoffed, "Without _anybody_ noticing a 50 foot carnivore hopping a fence."

"Your honor!" cried Bethany.

"Withdrawn. Did you think this a _likely_ theory, Mr. Grady?"

"…No."

"And yet you still felt safe going into the paddock."

"I didn't think it likely that it climbed out of the paddock, no. But there _was no heat_ signature. We'd never seen that before. The assumption _everyone_ made, was that the animal was just…somehow…gone."

"That wasn't the case though, was it?"

He dropped his head. "No," he muttered.

"What was that?"

"I said _no_ ," he glared up again.

"What happened next?"

Owen shifted in his seat and sped through the rest like he was ripping off the proverbial Band-Aid. "Soon after we reached the wall, we heard over the radio that they'd run the transmitter scan and the I-Rex was in fact still in the pen. Enrique and I started running for the internal door the feeders used to use, but Otto opened the paddock gate instead."

"Why did he do that?"

"Objection?"

"Can you think of any reason why he _would_ do that?"

"Because it was closer to him. And the Indominus was…blocking the way we came," he closed his eyes, the image of Otto sitting in front of that pick-up just before he'd been eaten burned into Owen's mind. Claire wasn't the only one with recurring nightmares. "Otto panicked."

Finally Rice pushed off of the witness stand and returned to his table. "Mr. Grady," he called as he flipped through his notes. "What happened after that?"

Owen stole another glance out into the courtroom as pens scratched rapidly against tiny steno pads. "Enrique was grabbed first—"

"Grabbed?"

"By the Indominus. He was…crushed to death."

"And then?"

"Otto and I made it out through the paddock doors. They were in the act of being closed as I slipped through, but not in time to seal her in. The Indominus had just enough room to fit her claw through and rip it open."

"And soon after that, Mr. Otto was killed and the I-Rex began her rampage through the grounds," Rice finished for him, clearly wanting to get right to his point.

"That's right."

Finally Rice turned back and Owen drew in a breath. Here it was – the question that had most damned Claire in his deposition. He locked eyes with her once more and hated the expression he found there – the martyr look, once again – defeated acceptance. He turned back to face Rice. "Mr. Grady, in light of this series of events, isn't it safe to say that you, Mr. Juarez, and Mr. Otto would not have gone in that paddock if Ms. Dearing had simply followed protocol and ordered the transmitter search first?"

Owen opened his mouth to reply when Bethany suddenly jumped up in her chair.

"Objection, your honor," she said, and this one shocked even her second chair. "Speculation."

Even Rice scoffed, "Excuse me?"

"I'm afraid you're going to have to elaborate on that one for me, Ms. Ramis," said the judge, who for the first time in the entire trial looked somewhat intrigued.

"The defense," she gestured to Rice, "is asking the witness to speculate on what would or would not have happened if the conditions of the day were changed. Is Mr. Grady an expert in theoretical physics? How is he supposed to know what would have transpired that day or any day for that matter, with respect to the Indominus in a different set of circumstances?" She finished her objection and looked squarely at Owen. He started. Where was she going with this? As a witness for the defense, Bethany hadn't at all been involved in his prep, and yet somehow she seemed to be throwing him a bone. His mind started racing.

"Your honor," Rice stared at his opponent, incredulous, "the entire reason for the witness's presence at these events was in fact _to_ speculate. Mr. Grady himself has already admitted he's not an expert in industrial steel or glass—" Owen twitched— "He was called upon for the express purpose _of_ predicting the likelihood of the animal's escape based on his experience in studying predatory behavior. I think it's safe to ask him whether or not, given a different set of variables, this _animal_ would have still escaped."

Franklin thought for a moment then shrugged toward Bethany. "He makes a fair argument, Ms. Ramis. Overruled."

Rice nodded and looked once more at his witness. "Mr. Grady?"

Owen was staring at Bethany, who oddly enough didn't seem surprised by Franklin's ruling. She simply watched…and waited.

"Mr. Grady?" Rice asked again, impatiently.

"Could you…" Owen thought a moment, staring between Claire and Bethany. "Could you repeat the question?" he said at last.

The courtroom responded with another chorus of murmurs as the defense lawyer shook his head at the ceiling. In a rushed, more impatient tone, Rice replied. "Isn't it safe to assume that the I-Rex wouldn't have escaped had Ms. Dearing followed Jurassic World's established protocol?"

Owen ran Rice's words very carefully in his mind. "No," he said slowly; Bethany nodded. "It's not."

Rice whirled around. "What?"

"No."

"Do you…" he checked his notes again, as if they were some script Owen was supposed to be following – which wasn't, of course, that far from the truth. After all, witnesses who contradict their depositions automatically put themselves at risk for perjury. Claire, knowing this, shot him a pleading look, but Owen didn't seem worried. "Do you want to rethink your answer Mr. Grady?" Rice finally asked.

"Objection? Asked and answered?"

"Sustained."

"Mr. Grady," Rice regrouped so fast, one might have missed entirely his lapse in temper. "May I remind you that you answered in the affirmative during your deposition?" He started to withdraw Owen's original statement as if preparing to submit it for further scrutiny when Owen shot back.

"No I didn't," he said, and this time he looked right at Claire.

 _What are you doing!?_ she mouthed, glancing around her as the hum of spectators grew louder and louder.

He shook his head and smiled, a signal not lost on Rice for he turned around and glared at Claire too. Claire abruptly looked away. "Mr. Grady—" he started.

"You asked me if my going into the paddock was by Ms. Dearing's orders. You never asked whether I thought the I-Rex would or wouldn't escape otherwise."

Rice's mouth hung open for a split second then he regained his cool. "It seems, your Honor, that Mr. Grady is engaging in a fun little game of semantics—"

Owen leaned forward and spoke quickly. "In less than 14 hours that animal disguised its own heat signature, obliterated a gyrosphere, and smashed through the outer wall of the aviary like it was tinfoil – both of which were made of the same aluminum oxynitride composite that lined one _fourth_ of the I-Rex's paddock – the wall that _guests_ were supposed to be able to look through, by the way. The issue isn't whether Ms. Dearing's actions led to its escape. It was always just a question of _when._ "

For the first time, Rice looked stumped, and he stared slack-jawed as Owen finished his speech, too dumfounded to cut in or ask the judge to cut him off. The press, meanwhile, was having a field day, the trial suddenly approaching as close to a Hollywood style courtroom drama as they'd ever seen in real life. Out came the cell phones and iPads, voices rising in volume, and Judge Franklin once again, called his courtroom to order.

"Your Honor," Rice spluttered. "Mr. Grady is now…speculating beyond the…the scope of what he can…accurately—"

"Judge Franklin," Bethany sprang from her chair, trying to keep from grinning. "Either Mr. Grady _should_ be allowed to speculateor he _shouldn't_. Could Mr. Rice please make up his mind?"

Franklin looked almost amused. "You opened the door, counselor," he said to Rice. "Either move on or cut him loose."

Rice glared from Bethany to the judge and then back at Owen. For a split second, he saw his witness glancing elsewhere and Rice once more followed the gaze to Claire Dearing. Desperate and slightly unhinged, he whirled back around. "Mr. Grady, what is the nature of your relationship with Ms. Dearing?"

Owen almost guffawed, "Excuse me?"

"Objection! Relevance!" Bethany nearly pounced on her desk.

"The witness has strayed significantly from his original deposition, your Honor. I believe the jury has a right to hear possible theories behind the motivation of so…material a change."

Franklin glanced at Owen peripherally, then nodded. "Overruled."

"Your relationship? Mr. Grady?"

Owen glanced at Claire, who now looked mortified. "We're…involved."

"Romantically?"

Owen rolled his eyes, "Sure."

"In fact," he retreated to his table and snatched a sheet of paper that looked to be a receipt of sorts from his second chair. "The two of you are currently sharing a hotel room just off the Harbor Freeway, isn't that true?"

"Your Honor!"

"Get to the point, Counselor."

"Is it possible, Mr. Grady, that this new theory of yours is prompted not by expertise but by your desire to save your girlfriend's—"

"Your Honor, this is absurd!"

"Order!" Franklin banged as the courtroom erupted in downright chaos.

From the witness stand, Owen could see Claire trying to stand up and push passed the people in her row. He thought fast. "It galls you doesn't it?" he yelled to the defense attorney as a hush swept through the room, for they suddenly didn't want to miss a word of Owen Grady's testimony. Claire was left standing, almost trembling in the aisle.

"What?" said Rice, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently.

"Your lack of control," he said.

"Your honor," he seethed, "please instruct the witness to answer—"

"You're face-to-face with an animal right now whose behavior you thought you could predict," Owen stared the man down as he held his arms out in a wide shrug. "Well, it turns out you can't, buddy…And now you're scrambling. Tryin' to fix it. Tryin' to make sure it doesn't mess up your _case._ " He paused and looked to Claire who remained frozen in the aisle. "Only every question you ask now, every decision you make…seems like you're going from bad to worse." Claire's eyes started to water but she didn't dare look away. Slowly, Owen shifted back to Rice, his eyes black and narrowed to slits. "Now whose _fault_ is that, Counselor? Yours…or the animal's?"

The courtroom had fallen to pin-dropping silence, and it seemed ages before either man made another move. Finally, Jensen Rice backed away from the witness stand and reclaimed his chair. "No more questions, your Honor."

…

 ** _Thanks for all the kind reviews and the numerous favs and alerts. Your feedback is always appreciated. Apologies to all the lawyers or litigators-to-be out there for inevitable inaccuracies or liberties taken in the courtroom scene. My understanding of trial law is pretty much limited to what I see on Law & Order and The Goodwife :)_**


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